A Portrait
by Xanagar
Summary: Rescue Fire. With overwhelming determination, Tatsuya finally decides to confront the subject of his infatuations with a very special, very quaint little gift.


**Overview**

Title: A Portrait

Author: Xanagar

Part: One-Shot

Rating: T

Series: Tomica Hero Rescue Fire

Genre: Romance

Pairing(s): Tatsuya/Yuma

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of _Tomica Hero Rescue Fire_, nor did I gain any profit in producing this fan fiction; if I did own any part, the show would no longer be suitable for television, much less for human eyes.

**Warning(s)**

It's one-sided, so I really don't think a warning is necessary, but oh, what the hell. There's some cute boy-lovin' abroad. Be on the lookout. It's terribly short, and terribly gooey.

**Author's Note**

In my own defense, this story was absolutely necessary. One, because no one has christened the _Tomica Hero_ section with any nice boy-love (as of the time of writing this), and two, because this pairing is absolutely improbable, thus giving me all the more reason to create it out of the deepest regions of my mind. And let's just be honest; everyone and their grandmother thinks Tatsuya is absolutely adorable, and would fit just fine in any pairing with any character in any universe. But for the sake of my own horrible perversion, it's Yuma. Just Yuma.

.::.

Jealousy, as his parents had always told him when he was very, very small, was the lowest form of discourse. It was, for lack of a much better word, the lowest and possibly foulest of the sins known to mankind. And yet, miraculously, Tatsuya was finding it unfathomably difficult to feel much of anything else at the moment. He wasn't a fan of envy, refused to endorse it in any shape or form. And, really, most of the time he managed to keep a smile placated firmly onto his face, if not for the sake of the people around him. But it was because of the people around him – in particular, one very special person – that he felt such an emotion. He tried to avert his feelings, but it all just seemed so pointless and inevitable. Clearly there was a reason for his feelings, and the best place to begin would be to find out _why_ he felt so strongly. Maybe then he would be able to recover, or at the very least, be able to find something else, _anything_ else, to push his attention towards.

He had given the matter an unusual amount of thought, and found that, after days of mulling over the subject, it would be best to tackle it head-on. After all, it would, in a way, solve everything. If he could just confront the scenario, then there would no longer be anything to think about. Everything would surely just fall into place.

But the jealousy was still an issue. He didn't like it; he hated it. It made him feel so... _dirty. _As though he might as well have been rolling around in foul-smelling mud. But as he navigated his way through the strangely slim corridors, passing by room after room and periodically cautiously peeking into each, a single thought continued to echo inside of his head. Listening to it again and again, he began to wonder if it was even his own voice, filled with so much childlike petulance and misdirected anger.

"And besides, what does _she_ have that I couldn't give him?"

What was even more begrudging to his ego was the fact that, quite surprisingly, he could not possibly come up with a proper answer. This was, of course, because there was no probable answer. The question itself was entirely moot; neither of them were more or less capable. It just so happened that he, Tatsuya, had not been on the receiving end of his crush's intrigue. It hurt him, bruised his insides every time he invited the thought back into his mind. Nonetheless, Tatsuya believed, perhaps naively, that there was still a chance that existed, however insignificant and frail.

He carried, underneath his arm, a small, rolled-up piece of slightly wrinkled white paper. He had decided to not come clad in uniform, so as to make the foreboding situation as casual as possible. The last thing he wanted to do was come across too authoritatively. He was still on duty, though, and so he tried to hurry as quickly as possibly to his desired destination. Wearing his exercise apparel, someone was bound to see him and, as a result, wonder why he wasn't training, or doing something even remotely productive.

"But this _is_ productive," Tatsuya thought diligently to himself, turning another corner into another seemingly endless corridor. Strangely though, there were no people about, no workers edging through the usually-so-crowded halls. An eerie silence announced itself, and Tatsuya distantly thought about the idea of fate, and whether or not such a prospect was, at the present time, relevant.

As he unconsciously reached down to grip the already crumbled edges of the item under his arm, he suddenly stopped. Farther along the hall, a door opened, and Tatsuya watched with a tremendous mix of dread and anticipation as a much taller man entered the hallway. As the door shut behind him, Tatsuya imagined he could hear the door's small hinges, all of them whining in abhorrent protest at what he was about to do. The other man turned to leave, and they found one another there, alone in the hall.

Tatsuya held his breath and, rather impulsively, stood very still, wondering if there was even a small chance that the man hadn't noticed him, and would nonchalantly pass by.

"Oh." His voice was low, almost like a tenor's. Tatsuya had knowingly memorized its tones and octaves, its natural ups and downs. Particularly, he liked the sound, the way it vibrated so violently inside his ribcage, dangerously adjacent to his heart. The other man said, "Tatsuya."

Tatsuya gulped, strained his fists. Forcing himself to move closer to the other man so as to not find himself yelling, he answered, "Hi, Yuma."

He looked closer and noticed that Yuma was carrying a bag around his arm, taking this to mean that, hopefully, Yuma was taking a break and wouldn't be in any hurry. He imagined he might need all the time he could manage.

Edging closer, he saw Yuma smile; he tried to return the gesture, his nerves bouncing around inside of his stomach more terribly as the seconds passed. The other man eyed him closely, then, taking note of Tatsuya's attire, said, "Are you planning on working out now? We could go together if you'd like." He indicated the bag under his arm. "I was actually just on my way back now to change."

Tatsuya quickly shook his head and, slightly forcibly, pulled the crumbled paper from under his arm and held it in his hands. Momentarily, he noticed they were beginning to tremble. "No." Then, he added, "I mean, that's not why I came here." He scratched the back of his head, thought about his next move. "I wanted to give you something."

Yuma's face changed. He raised his eyebrows curiously at the thing in Tatsuya's hands. "I assume you're talking about that, then?"

Tatsuya nodded hesitantly.

"Well then, what is it?" Yuma moved even closer. Tatsuya breathed in the smell of the other man's usual cologne, the smell of weeds and rainwater. It was enticing, almost threateningly so. "Is it a map? Are you coordinating a new battle technique or something? Or is it for training purposes-"

Somewhat conveniently, Yuma found himself unable to finish his thought. Between imagining what kind of new training tactics his partner could have envisioned, he watched as the smaller boy opened up the long drawing paper, stared at it for a short moment, then, with abrupt enthusiasm and fervor, thrust the thing into his face. Behind the paper, he heard Tatsuya say softly, "Here." Then, a moment later, "It's for you."

Yuma blinked, once, twice, clearly more than slightly confused. He observed the drawing, its many attributes, but couldn't seem to come to an accurate conclusion. "I don't understand," he said, placing his chin in his grip and squinting so as to hopefully get a better view, or maybe a different perspective. "What should I be looking at? If this is strategy, it's certainly not anything I've ever-"

"It's _not_."

Yuma stopped, taken aback. Quickly realizing his mistake, Tatsuya added, "It's not strategy. Or new training techniques. Or anything like that." He lowered the paper slightly, so that his small eyes peered just over its slim edge. "It's a picture."

Yuma grimaced. "I gathered that much. But I still don't get it."

"What's not to get?" Tatsuya said, his voice suddenly more defensive, like a child giving a presentation in front of a class of onlookers. He reached around the paper and, in an effort to elaborate, pointed towards one of the two poorly drawn stick-figures; it shown in bright red, created by crayons. "This is _me_." Next, he moved his finger to the right, and hovered for a moment above the second stick-figure that was just as shoddily drawn, this time in dark shades of silver. "And _this_," he said, his voice rising in pitch, "is _you_."

Slightly annoyed now, Yuma rolled his eyes. "Okay," he said dryly. "That's apparent, I think. But what, if I may ask, is this?" Using a single finger, he slowly pressed it to the paper and began to trace the thin line of pink that, in contrast to the other aspects of the portrait, looked as though it had been produced with cautious meticulousness around the two figures in its center. Humorously, Yuma realized that it was, in fact, a heart. Around the two shrewd little stick-figures. Around _them_.

"Oh," Tatsuya muttered, feigning surprise that such a thing could even exist on said portrait. "That. Well, that's actually a heart."

Yuma said nothing, awaiting an explanation. Tatsuya gulped, his heart speeding up slightly. His mouth felt so very dry. He rolled his tongue around in it, searching through the crevices for any sign of moisture. He said, "And it's around us. Because–"

Tatsuya couldn't imagine how much time had passed since his pause. Yuma stared at him, expressionless. He felt as though he might be a small specimen, being viewed underneath a microscope and dissected. He closed his eyes, clenched his fist, closing them destructively on the edges of the portrait. It made a horrid noise that rang in the back of his ears, crumpling up so helplessly.

With his eyes closed tightly, he said, "Because that's the way I _want_ it to be."

And so there was overwhelming quiet. The pair waited, perhaps for any sign that the other would be kind enough to interject. Neither of them seemed to have the courage necessary to do so. Tatsuya's hands continued to hold on tightly to the thin paper. It made no more objections, no more noise. Eventually Tatsuya heard the sudden rustling of the other man's feet. He seemed to be searching for something to say, a reply.

When Tatsuya had begun to contemplate leaving altogether, he heard Yuma mutter something. His eyes opened wider, sucked in a chestful of artificial air. "What?"

Yuma changed his voice. It became somewhat louder. "I asked, 'Did you make it on your own?' By yourself, I mean."

Tatsuya nodded slowly. The question, at this point in the juncture, seemed somewhat unnecessary. Superfluousness aside, he replied, "I did. With some of the crayons I'd gotten from the orphanage during my last trip back." He steadily opened up the paper, stared carefully at it like an artist might examine his most recent masterpiece. "I worked really hard on it. I wanted it to be special."

"And the two people in the picture," Yuma continued, pointing an incriminating finger in the direction of the portrait, "that's us?"

His face somewhat hurt and bewildered, Tatsuya nodded again. He wondered where Yuma was going with this. At the very least, his partner did not appear disgusted at his act of infatuation. But, contrastingly, he certainly didn't seem ecstatic. In fact, his expression was rather hard to read. It was not one of happiness, nor of hatred. It seemed so neutral; Tatsuya hated it, the sudden unknown that engulfed them. He looked at the ground, and focused on it sharply. He tried to not look up, into the other man's eyes, for fear that he may lose himself within them. He stayed very quiet; better, perhaps, to let Yuma take things from here. But then, he watched as a hand that was not his own reached out and, with reasonable delicacy, took the paper from him. Tatsuya did not resist. He opened up his hands; when they were empty, he found that he could not quite close them again.

Yuma spread it out onto the floor beneath them. He eased out the creases with his hands, taking great care to kneel close to it, his face still unreadable. He stared at the creation, at his own self-image, at the image of the boy next to him. He stared at the magenta-stained heart that seemed to shine with obnoxious color. It was all very cute, perhaps even beautiful. Tatsuya waited to the side. He imagined he might be being judged; the verdict would hold enormous weight.

Finally, Yuma stood up again. He moved gracefully towards Tatsuya. His fingers, still wrapped in their gloves, encircled around the other boy's. He observed him with fond, deconstruction eyes. When the other boy shyly looked away, he moved himself closer, so as to put less unnecessary space between them. He made sure that their eyes could meet for a moment. He said, "It's a very nice portrait, Tatsuya."

Tatsuya felt his heart erupt into his throat with unimaginable force. In an effort to respond, he choked on its implied weight, its fantastic size, and instead moved his lips instinctively, although no words escaped him. He felt Yuma's hand squeeze tightly around his own; it was enticingly warm. Through the corner of his eye, he saw the other man relax his head against the wall, so very close to his own neck, his own hungry, chilled skin that had already begun to elicit an abundance of goosebumps. He felt warm breath that was reckless torture against his ear, heard a whispered, "I'd like you to draw other things for me."

"Other things," Tatsuya repeated, a schoolchild repeating a memorized anthem from a respected teacher.

"I don't know." Yuma touched the cinnamon visibility of Tatsuya's breastbone. Tatsuya shivered. Yuma pretended not to notice. "Other things. We'll use our imagination, right? We'll draw so many things. Maybe with more colors." He laughed. "Maybe a rainbow."

"A rainbow." The word tasted bitter against Tatsuya's tongue, but not entirely so. There was a certain sweetness there, too. The two culminated in a strange, outrageous fashion. "And what about her?" Tatsuya uttered suddenly, quietly. He felt slightly guilty for using the word _her_, but Yuma's lack of movement seemed to indicate his understanding.

Yuma lowered his head slightly. He said, "People are strange."

"Okay," Tatsuya answered, unsure if this was a positive statement or not.

Yuma continued. "They come and go, sleep and wake up again. They try so hard to live honorably, while every so often picking fruit from the Tree of Sin." He paused for a moment, but only a moment. "I can't imagine a human being incapable of flaws or lacking completely in virtue. I just don't see it."

"What are you trying to say?" Tatsuya asked. His voice sounded unsure, needy. He felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable, ashamed of it.

Yuma wrapped his spare hand around the other boy's waist, pulled him near. "I mean it doesn't matter, regardless. It doesn't matter if it's you or her. One way or another, we're just humans committing acts of selfishness, and then, occasionally, acts of kindness. But even so, we are solely required to give love, and to be loved in return." He smiled, laughed once more. "And besides, what could be more beautiful than that?"

Another sleight of warmth from Yuma struck Tatsuya's ear, scraped violently against his neck. He stared at the opposite wall, across the corridor. Its grays erupted into multitudes of color and light, and he imagined it might very well be beautiful.


End file.
